So it happens like this. Like every sugary-sad pop hit about wishing he returned your feelings. Like a record player that’s stuck, just keeps repeating the same thing over and over. Like an overdone, romcom trope that everyone else can see coming before the credits ever roll.

So it happens like this. And you know how it ends. You’ve seen this story enough times.

But you can’t help yourself from remembering. It’s hard to tell which one you’re getting drunk off more, nostalgia or loneliness. Maybe it’s a combination. The kind of one that gives nasty hangovers.

Sure, he’s not the person you’re going to ultimately end up with.

That’s what everyone reminds you.

And it’s true. Together, you were like dynamite. Hot and full of passion, but still explosive. Not stable. Nothing you take Christmas cards with.

But still, you remember.

When it was good, it was so good.

And that’s the burn. That’s why this leftover bruise is something you keep touching. When he texts, you remember. When he reaches out, all of the hurt and betrayal is clouded by all that good.

Your phone beeps and your insides jump on the nearest roller coaster.
Your phone beeps and you shouldn’t care.
Your phone beeps and you should probably put it on silent.

But you don’t. You respond. You let go of your ego and better judgement and engage.